Layover in Goa

We had to shut the windows of the car as we drove out of Puttaparthi to Bangalore. The wind coming in was so hot it was like a blast furnace. I left behind a town that was already three quarters shuttered down. Baba was rumoured to be leaving in just two days so all the Kasmiri merchants in particular were champing at the bit to race off to Kashmir despite numerous phone calls from home telling them that the massive late season snow dump of the week before had people paddling boats in the streets of Shrinegar.

Bangalore was much cooler, my little thermometer only got up to 30 while I was there. I had to go in on the Friday to get the crowns installed on my back molars, so that left me with nothing to do after I found a post office and mailed a parcel but lounge in my large, comfortably airy and cool hotel room reading "The Last Mohgul" by William Darymple for most of Saturday and Sunday. First time I have ever actually had a relaxing visit to Bangalore. Stayed at the Race View Hotel, my favorite Kashmiri shopkeeper sugested it. Great value for 600 rupees, butI woke up too late both days to see the horses excercising in the morning.

Anyways, did a very short flight to Goa, arrived early evening as the sea breeze was banishing the heat of the day. Ah what a delight. Lots of people still enjoying the balmy evening air, shops and restaurants and even computer shops open till 11 oclock. Felt like a grown up again after Puttaparthi's 9pm lock down. That place is getting more cultish and treating people more like children every year.

I spent a lot of time talking to Kashmiris while I was in P. They have a very nervous existance in town. The local Telagu speaking Hindus who run the small convience, home furnishing and repair shops and man pushcarts out on the streets are pretty hostile to the mutton and chicken eating Muslim shop owners who occupy the prime real estate directly outside the Ashram walls and sell expensive luxury goods like clothing and jewelry. Muslim merchants go directly from their shops to home, no walking around on the streets alone after dark for them. The Kashmiris like to stay up late and eat and watch television till after midnight. The Hindus like to be asleep by 9 and start singing bajans at 4 am. The Baba devotees from all over the world are getting more and more insistant that the whole town, not just the Ashram toe the line in matters ranging from diet; pressure from the Sai Trust got rid of the only two non-veg restaurants in town and decorum; the police told one shopkeeper to get out of town because a German lady accused him of fooling around with some Russian women. As I said, it's all getting pretty cultish. Too bad it's a so much more economical place for a lengthy stay than Goa.

The Darymple book was interesting in that it described very much the same sort of differences in daily routines between the Mughal courtiers in the Red Fort and the Hindu merchants in Delhi at the turn of the century. And there again you had a third group, Christian Britishers taking administrative control with a totally different time table and agenda again. In Puttaparthi the foreigners are not quite so overwhelminly British, but there is a very strong Northern European presence and public morality emerging. Interesting to see that these dynamics are not new in India. The Russians don't seem to be toeing the line though. My friend Manzoor in Calangute tells me that some Russians have just arrived in Goa complaining about their stay in P. Wonder if they are the same bunch rumoured to be caught in naughty activities with the Kashmiri who was told to get out of town?

Three billion people and small town politics can still cross the width of the continent at the speed of an airliner.

I'm heading up to Delhi on Friday, suposed to meet my friend Remi there and continue on to Shrinegar the next day. He invited himself on my Kashmir trip last year and insisted on when we had to go this year. (I would have prefered to hang out another week or two in Goa to let the late winter early spring stuff blow itself out, but he had to get out of P before Baba, didn't want the expense of a layover in Goa and Delhi is also sweltering right now, so he doesn't want to stay there any longer than necessary). Now he tells me that he may not be able to make it to Delhi because there was a bad derailment on the mainline from Bangalore to Delhi that he is suposed to take in two days. I think the stories of people boating in flooded Shrinegar are spooking him.

I don't care, I have my winter boots and coat from my January arrival from Canada. Arrived in Canada during the last of the winter downpour in BC this time last year, by the last week in April it was beautiful, so I'm not worried about a little early spring mountain weather in Kashmir. I may indeed be going up there alone after all. That's ok. Got an invitation to a wedding in May and recomendations of good cheap guest houses rather than houseboats so I'm looking forward to the experience alone or with company. Meanwhile Goa is beautiful, a little bit hot during the middle part of the day, but beautifully cool and fresh morning and evening, especially out on the beach. And the food, as always, absolutely wonderful. Those Goans sure know how to cook.

Winding down in Puttaparthi

The dying season has begun. Three times in the last three days the thrum of flat hand held skin drums. Twice a flower mounded body with tiny wizened face poking out of the flowers paraded past on the way to the Hauneman Temple. It's getting hot. Up around 38 C to 40 C every day. Old people are dying. I feel very sorry for those impoverished oldsters, sweltering in tiny dark places with no electricity. Two and a half more months of heat to go for them.

My flat isn't too bad. Put up foil coated mylar sheets, sold as "space blankets" to Canadian drivers in the winter for emergency protection, on my south and west windows. Switch on my ceiling fan before the lights when I get home. Keeps the place around 34 C. Jump into the bathroom every time I get home. The warm water in the shower around noon that was such a delight two months ago comes out of the tap too hot to stand under any more. I fill a bucket with cold water every evening and mix the hot into my pouring cup for a nice tepid sluice and a dry off under the ceiling fan. The walls stay slightly warm all night now.

I've got two more weeks to go. Getting on a plane for a five day visit to Goa the Sunday after next, then on to meet Remi in Delhi and the flight to Shrinegar up in the mountains of Kashmir. Looking forward to some cool mountain air.

Puttaparthi is emptying out. The once crowded restaurants are almost deserted at night now. Many close early. During the daytime the streets are quiet and dusty.

Baba is supposed to be going to Whitefield on the 22nd, the whole town will shut down then, shopkeepers are packing goods away, getting ready to roll down their shutters for the two months or so Baba is expected to be away. I'm going up to Bangalore on the 23rd to finish off my dental work and catch a plane. Remi isn't booked out till the 28th, it will be an interesting experience for him to be in a completely quiet Puttaparthi. His friends Denis and Sherrie will be around all summer so he will have a place to hang out until the train leaves.

I'm getting my business sorted out, organizing receipts for customs, indexing, pricing and cateloguing goods I picked up during my stay.

Had a hilarious day, (in retrospect, wasn't all that much fun while I was in it) in Bangalore on Friday. I went in on the early train for a dental appointment and had with me a claim form I am sending back to Canada that needed to be notarized. Things started to go bad at the train station. The train was three quarters of an hour late. Got into Bangalore an hour late at the beginning of the afternoon rush hour. Fidgeted all through the crawl across town. Arrived an hour and a half late for my appointment. The dentist had just gone home. She was very nice about it, I apologized profusely, her resident poked at my tooth, no pain anymore, filled up the hole with a temp dressing, made me another appointment. No more trying to do this same day thing. Next time I'll come in on the Friday and get to the dentist early Saturday morning before the streets fill up.

On my way to my second assignment. I have to find a notary to stamp this document. Someone in Puttaparthi had suggested going to a police station and asking there. Police have a lot to do with lawyers, seemed logical. Got a rickshaw, the driver looked scared when I asked to go to a police station, any police station. Around and around and around we go, must have passed the same damn park three times, asking, asking, asking for directions. Maybe the driver was just trying to find a station where no body knew him by sight. Eventually we found one, and after many false attempts I finally connected with someone who could tell me where the lawyers hang out. Mayo Hall looks like an old courthouse out of a forties movie. But the halls were lined with desks with signs saying "Notary" So and So. Ah ha, just what I have been looking for. A short wait and I have what I came for, half a page of brightly coloured stamps and an impressive big red seal. These Indians know how to do it up right. Had to laugh when the notary told me that he was going to charge me 150 rupees but he was only going to put 15 rupees on the receipt. The guy who is verifying that I have sworn to tell the truth is lying himself. So India.

Anyways, back into the traffic, mad dash to the railway station in hundred yard bursts between jam ups. It's almost train time and I still have to stand in line for a ticket. One short angry burst at the taxi driver who is trying to gouge me for another 300 rupees. I've already given him twice what shows on the meter to pay for wait time. That train is getting ready to go, I have no time for this. I push a hundred rupees into his face and say, "take 100 rupees or take nothing, I'm leaving." He took the hundred rupees. So back on the train again with seconds to spare before the station starts to roll past. I realize I'm becoming an Indian. Other people are running across the platform to leap for the handrails of the slowly moving train. Beginning to understand how this happens. I have no small bills, I haven't eaten all day or stopped for a minute. I can't get a snack from any of the vendors because I know none of them can change a 500 rupee note.

Then the conductor comes for the rest of my fare. He doesn't have change for 500 either. A nice young man sitting beside me offers to change my bill and shares a spicy omelet wrapped up in a chappati with me. Also so India. Turns out he has a very English name to go with that unusual accent. What do you know, another Anglo Indian. They seem to like letting westerners know that they share some heritage. My Great grandfather served in India, didn't marry anybody over there though. Interesting encounter, neat to know that the descendants of those few marriages still value the western side of their heritage also.

Catching up

Feb 6

Lands of fire, Lands of water.

Ram's wedding celebration got back on track early last week. His e-mail came to late for me to get a train reservation so I took the only bus going that direction, the High Tech bus from Puttaparthi to Vijayawada. I wondered at the name. Turns out High Tech means the bus has a TV screen on which to show movies. I would certainly have traded that for a decent suspension.

Thanks to my trip of the previous week I knew that it was just a short local run from there to Tenali, scene of the function. We left at dusk and headed straight north up the centre of India towards Anantapur the state capital. The air was very murky, more smoke and pollution than usual, and I soon found out why. We passed an entire mountainside ablaze, shedding great clouds of black soot into the air. I had always wondered why the Norse called dragons worms. Worms have always suggested more water than fire to me, till I saw this entire mountain infested with crawling fire worms. In the gathering gloom and heat the dry Andhra Pradesh landscape was like something a medieval painter might have used to suggest the environs of hell.

I dozed off and when I woke again, we were climbing and climbing, steep switchback turns on a narrow track where the bus had to slow right down to negotiate a passage with every other goods truck and bus on the road. We were hemmed in on both sides by deep impenetrable forest and from what little I could see by the light of the full moon long forested ridges stretched out as far as I could see. Soon we were over this escarpment and as dawn lightened the sky I could see the land had flattened out. Mile after mile of deep green lush paddy fields interspersed with coconut palms. We are in the wet, rich part of Andrha Pradesh.

I realized later we must have crossed the Eastern Ghats and that these cast a long rain shadow across the centre of India and the western part of Andrha Pradesh in particular. Going east toward Bangalore from Puttaparthi there is a substantial rise in elevation that lowers the temperature by measurable degrees but not these craggy bluffs. I'd like to find a way to get there in daylight sometime, both bus and train go through at night.


Feb 8

Tieing the string.

Ram's wedding was scheduled by the local Pandit who determined that 1:14 AM was the most auspicious moment to begin the ceremony. First there was a short Bride's pooga where the brides family presented Ram with gifts and anointed him with perfume in the grooms preparation chambers. Then the whole company went outside onto the patio and had dinner. Attendants decorated a three sided structure like a large puppet theater stage with strings of blossoms. Ram and Jostnah sat in this structure and people brought them presents.

As the appointed time approached, tables were cleared away and people moved their chairs in front of the stage. The bride and the Pandit and his associate seated themselves in the theater. First the brides relatives came with a big box filled with jewelers cases and hung strand after strand of gold chain, necklaces, rings and golden bangles on the bride. They filled her lap with every agricultural product the region produces and gave her clothing and other presents. Then when she went off. Ram came onto the stage and the brides parents held a loop of string which Ram slipped over his head and arm. Ram's father passed up another silver string and Ram slipped that on too. The bride came back in another magnificent sari and the gift giving and chanting of prayers continued. Both Ram and Jostnah had a thick paste of turmeric pressed down on the top of their heads. Then both left the stage again and after a short while, to a fanfare of trumpets Ram arrived back, looking like a mogul princeling in his gold striped caftan and Jostnah soon afterwards in another amazing sari of white cotton.

The first part of the ceremony appeared to have more to do with the relationships the two families were negotiating with each other. The second part was about the bride and groom. They poured buckets of rice and flower petals over each others heads and then plates of different kinds and colours of foil confetti and light plastic balls until the stage must have been at least an inch deep in all this colorful melange. Wedding guests tossed handfuls of rice on the newly wedded pair. Then they were both adorned with the large traditional bridal garlands. After many photos and prayers a fire was lit in a shallow metal basin and Ram lead his bride in the traditional seven steps around the fire. It was a very moving moment. Space was so tight in that little puppet stage that Ram had to bend far forward to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling and Jostnah had to keep her sari skirts very tightly gathered to avoid dragging them into the fire in the tight confines of the stage. You could see how tightly they were holding on to each other as the flimsy floor of the structure flexed under their weight. Seemed the very metaphor of the perils of modern marriage to me. Young people do have to hang on very tight to each other in these times. All this took until after four in the morning. I considered it a great privilege and honor to have been invited. I began to sense something of the depth and age of Indian culture. Any one of these rituals could have been "the" ceremony at one time, but like everything in India the present is constantly layered over the past and all exist in the present in complex and subtle interrelationships.

The next day the company met again for another papoose with the grooms parents and the newly wedded pair, breakfast and farewells. Many of the overseas guests who had originally come for Ram's wedding had run out of time off from their jobs when Ram's wedding had been preopted for Grandmothers funeral, so Ram and his family had canceled the formal reception and opted for some simple family time at the family home in Tiruputi, before Ram and Jostnah had to go to Delhi to finalize Jostnah's Canadian immigration application.

Feb 9

Journey home

I contemplated taking the local train to Gunter that evening and seeing if I could catch the high tech bus I came on, on it's run back to Puttaparthi, but I liked my hotel room in Tenali so I decided just to get an early start instead. I asked for a five o'clock morning call so I could catch the 5:30 train to Gunter. Bad call. Seven o'clock I wake up. No wake up call at five. Oh, well, I'd go down to Gunter anyway and hang around. There would be some bus leaving in the evening, to Anantapur if not to Puttaparthi. It would be easy to get local transportation from Anantapur. So down to the station, quick stop for chai at the tea stall I had scoped out the previous evening, and on to the train station. Then things get weird.

I plunk down my seven rupees and ask for a ticket to Gunter. The guy behind the glass says it costs 21 rupees because this one is express. He directs me to track four. The train will be there at 8:00. I wait by track four and sure enough a train comes along. Sardine time, morning rush hour, barely room to breath, but that's ok, this is an express and its a short run. Only, it is stopping at every two bit local railway shack, and there seem to be a lot more of them than I expected. Can't see much, I'm standing and the view from the window doesn't show much more than a bit of gravel. Then the view from the window shows me water through rail trestles. Water for a long, long way. This is not Gunter. This is Krishna Canal just outside of Vijayawada! Asshole ticket seller and his crummy practical jokes. Oh well Vijayawada will work too. Just get a bus to Anantapur from here. So that's what I do, reserve a ticket with one of the independent companies running luxury Volvo buses, because after my trip up here I have a real craving for Air Suspension, hold the movie. I get lunch and hole up in a cheap but seedy hotel room for a couple hours of sleep because I know I won't be able to sleep on the bus. Then back through what I am beginning to think of as the enchanted forest in the cool dark night. At least on this bus the window doesn't rattle open with the vibration. I don't have too jam a folded up magazine between the panes to keep it closed. The air is quite cold out there. By morning we are out of the hills and stop to unload most of the passengers and the several tons of stuff the bus is carrying on it's roof in the only major town between Anantapur and the forest.

As I expected the local bus to Puttaparthi from Anantapur is easy, the guy behind the counter sees my white face and cheerily chirps "Puttaparthi, right?" Right. The bus is leaving in an hour. I'm surprised by how ramshackle all of Anantapur I have been able to see is. State Capital, you would expect some impressive public buildings at least, some paved streets maybe.But not here. This dusty place reminds me of something out of an old western film, a broken down collection of buildings at the end of a long dusty road. Even little Tenali was more impressive than this. I am in the fire lands of Andrah Pradesh again.

The day before I left to go north the first time all the merchants in Puttaparthi had staged a general strike and rolled their steel shutters down for the morning, turning the town into a ghost town. When I asked what was happening I was told that there is a lot of pressure in Andhra Pradesh to split apart. Rich Andhra wants to shed it's responsibility to poor cousins in the rain shadow. I can understand why now. Sai Babba spoke out against partition. Some people were quite incensed at his temerity in involving himself in politics. Putaparthi is an anomaly in this part of India. It is India Disneyland, a frothy pink theme park perched in a semi desert of dry arroyos; an oasis of wealth and plenty in the middle of the poorest part of the most poverty stricken state of India; or perhaps it is quintessentially Indian, an Indian wedding in a ruinous old temple, bright silks against broken stone. Twenty years ago it didn't exist. Baba is eighty two. How long will it last when Babba isn't in residence at the Ashram?

Nevertheless I am very happy to get back to my cool clean bare apartment again, such a relief to just stop vibrating at last.

When all hell breaks loose

No sooner do I get back to Puttaparthi and get my Internet connection re-established than I find that CIBC bank account has been raided. I don't like doing banking on other peoples machines so I hadn't checked any of my accounts for the time I was away. Very unpleasant surprise.

Anyways, I only had current income in that account, I keep my investment and savings in other banks so they only got one month's income and I've got the necessary processes underway to direct my income to other banks and set up other ways to access funds in India. Amazing what you can do on line these days, both good and bad. Luckily I had sent money to Remi for my trip so they didn't get that. The only real problem other than loosing the money is; that was the only Canadian ATM card I had found worked in any Indian ATM, sometimes, otherwise I would have closed that account long ago, CIBC is the pits when it comes to customer service..

So it's been a busy time slaving over the old Internet and firing off frantic e-mails to my son to go over to my apartment and give the super some cash because the rent cheque was about to bounce. Worst possible time for it to happen. Ram is in India too or I could have had him sort it out. Anyways, done the necessary to cauterize the wound. Now I just have to figure out how to get some cash into India for this month. State Bank is probably going to be slow, India doesn't do Internet banking yet and it takes a long time to get bits of paper across the ocean. Hate to do it but I'll probably have to get my son to send me some money by Western Union. Remi got a little warning that they are going after his account also, his son Mark had some really good suggestions for things that you can do on the Internet. The guy is quite the resource. Remi is a lot more vulnerable than me, he doesn't have very much income even by Indian standards.

So his paranoia has substantial grounds in fact. I still think it's a waste of good energy to grouse about it all the time.

Anyways, despite the money hassle it's been good to get back, hang out with friends, go to the library. Been trying to find venues in my home town where I can sell my stuff for the summer, a couple of music fairs will do, instead of just relying on word of mouth, e-bay and home sales. Want to pick up the pace a bit. Found some lovely soft and warm wool shawls in lovely pastel shades at a reasonable price for my Canadian customers who are not in the least impressed with super thin pashminas, not even if they are very nicely embroidered. Even in summer evenings get cool.

Home again, home again, jigitty jig

Feb 1

It's dark. Something has changed. The train has stopped moving. What time is it? I peer groggily at my clock. 6 AM. Oh my God, it's Preshanthi Nilayam or maybe not, maybe its Anantapor. I struggle my bags down the passageway and peer out into the darkness. There is a sign there, but I can't read it. My glasses, under the pillow, rush back, try to locate my compartment, if this is Puttaparthi it's a very short stop. Find the glasses, rush back, still can't read the sign, it's all in Hindi and Telegu so I call out to a guy on the platform, is this Preshanti Nilayam? Yes, it's the conductor, good, the train won't move off until he gives the all clear. I can get my bags off without breaking an arm. Of course there are no porters, they are all up at the entrance gossiping with the taxi drivers. The little wheelie is fine but that big bag won't steer worth a damn, I make my wavering way up to the entrance and all the porters and taxi drivers wake up and mob me at once. I'm back.

Good to have my own apartment to come to and not have to get off the train all buzzed out and groggy and try to find a hotel.

Well, that was interesting, not at all what I expected. And I still have to get up to Goa and do some business in the near future but I'll do it the easy way and just fly out of Bangelore. Meanwhile, back to work here in Puttaparthi. I have to get a bed and mattress to put my new sheets on.

My internet connection works again. Have to go down to the shop and ask why it would not on the road. Suposed to have a roaming feature. Have yo find out why that is not working for me.

In India anything can happen, and usually does.

Jan 24th

Finally got some rupees in hand. I e-mailed a money transfer from my bank account in Edmonton to my friend Remi, a commonplace procedure I have done many times before. He took rupees out of his Indian account and gave them to me. Remi is really into doomsday and conspiracy stuff so over and over again he warns me,

"You trust technology too much, you are going to loose your money!"

Sure enough, he checks his email twice that day and still the email he has to respond to to be able to put money into his account has not arrived in his in-box. It's gone from my account and I get to hear many warnings that all this teck stuff will soon pass away, Shiva is rising to destroy the world.That is what Babba is doing in Chennae. Next morning I check the status of that transaction, my bank tells me that the email has been recieved but noty responded to, so I check his e-mail account myself. Nothing in the in-box but there the little bugger is, hiding in Junk mail. Funny how the universe sometimes tries very hard to give you exactly what you ask for. Anyway, finally get it sorted out, I don't loose my money and the world doesn't come to an end. I don't know if Remi is happy or sad about this.

I still do not know if the problem is with my card or the machine. Talked to another Canadian, her Royal Bank card stopped working, perhaps all of us canucks are being frozen out by changes in banking protocol or some sort of financial treaty. Hard to understand some Indian processes. Will try the card out in Vishakaputnam in some banks that have worked before that they don't have in Puttaparthi..

Have an uneventful train ride and transfer to local train up to where Ram's wedding is to be held in Repalle. Ram meets me at the station.

"Did you get my message? My grandmother passed away yesterday".

The wedding is now a funeral. Wow! That's harsh! I say what I can to offer comfort to the family and try as much as possible to just stay out from under foot. It's not a good time for visitors.

So I will continue on my planned itinerary, go up to Visnakaputnam and then to Goa a little earlier than planned. I can zip back up when Ram's wedding finally is celebrated, now I know how to get here.

And my internet isp is not picking up. This account is suposed to have roaming but neither Ram's text message arrived or my internet connection connected. We may just be too far away from a microwave tower here. Or I may just be out of time, though that's hard to believe.Will try it later at Gunter and find a Reliance shop and ask what the problem is.

Andrah Pradesh is often called the rice bowl of India. In this part of the state you can certainly see why. The fields are flat, lush with crops, rich with water. The green is incredible, soft and lush and rich. In the evenings sea mist rolls in from the Bay of Bengal The air is soft with moisture.. Hundreds of large haystacks dot the cleared fields, not those rocky stupas that give Puttaparthi it's name, "Anthill".. The cows loll in the street plump with water and sleek. The little town of Repalle is beautifully clean with totally reasonable traffic. It's a beautiful, colourful, prosperous looking little place, mainstreet about a mile long I'd estimate. Ram says his extended family loves coming back to their native place for holidays with the family. It is his mother and late grandmother's home.

At the train station people came over to tell me that they believed in Christ and ask if I was a missionary. It was spooky, they were standing around two deep. I felt very self concious about all the attention. Hey Rainbow, one lady asked me to take her back to Canada to peel vegetables!

Ram told me I should be able to get a good hotel room in Gunter for 100 rs so I decided to splash out and get one for three hundred. very nice room, just perfect for my needs. Now to find out how long it's going to take me to get a ticket to Vishakaputnam.

New India

Yet more adventures with Indian technology. Went to the bank day before yesterday to try to get some cash for my trip with my bank card at the ATM machine. No luck, transaction times out. This can just be an international connectivity issue, happens sometimes, but I have a secret fear. Brousing through the support material for my new phone I have seen a warning to not carry it in the same place as bank cards or anything else with a magnetic strip with data on it. Of course I read this is after carrying my phone in the same purse as my bank card.

No panic yet, another lady tells me the machine wouldn't respond to her credit card. But it could be a real hassel. Lost my card to purse snatchers last trip, had to get my daughter to send me cash via Western Union for the rest of the trip, very inconvienent and expensive for both of us. My bank is so paranoid about identity theft they will not issue a card unless I go to one of their bank tellers, and it better be at my home branch because it takes them days and days to validate a request from out of town. Went through all that in North Vancouver when I got back last time! No chance of them couriering a new card to India.

Next day, back to the ATM. Same result. Now I can start to panic a little. I have a low daily limit on my card so I was planning to take out that limit for three days prior to the trip because where I am going is pretty rural and there is a good chance that there are no ATMs. So I have lost one of those days now and it's the weekend, not much chance of anything being done to the bank machine until Monday, if that is where the problem is.

It's a bad time for this to happen. Remi took off for a yatra in Chennae yesterday. He has an account in the same bank as I do in Edmonton, an interbranch transfer on the internet would be easy and he could just get me the rupees with his card, but he is out of town and won't be back until after I leave. I haven't found any machine yet which will accept my card from another Canadian bank. I don't have a credit card and basically only enough cash for food and walking around money till I go on the train.

It's not really the end of the world. I have my rail ticket and can probably buy a few rupees from Ram via a Canadian bank transfer when I go up to his wedding, but I may have to scrub my trip to Goa. I can just come back to Puttaparthi and set up a State Bank of India account I can transfer Canadian funds into via Paypal and get an ATM card from them. There are State Bank ATMs all over India and they even pay interest on depositors funds. Bonus. But it takes weeks to get the card so I will have to get Remi to get me some funds with his card to tide me over or just go in and make a withdrawal at the counter. That should be ok, he'll be arriving back here a couple of days before I get back. It's all just nerve racking. Here I am again in a third world country with $40 Canadian in the local currency in my pocket and machines blandly telling me "operation cancelled", on a weekend.

Anyway, I'll go down to the ATM and try again today.

PS: a note to those with limited vocabularies, comments are moderated.

New Link

Hey everybody, (especially you Bren and the gals in North Battleford), if you want to really motivate yourself to get to India check these tales out. See Linda's Yoga Journey on the favorite sites list below.

It's official- I'm an addict

My euphoria of last night was short lived. Half way into downloading the files my editor was sending for February's issue of Street News my connection was abruptly terminated. In the morning I went back to the shop. As I thought, no minutes left in my account. Not good, because I had already paid for 1000 Rs worth. The guy explained that he had been worried that maybe the handset was what was jamming up so he had replaced it with another. Fair enough. Then he had sold the original handset to someone else with the 1000Rs attached. Not so good. He put more rupees into my account. Then before I fired up again I checked my balance. I now have 1000 more rupees than I paid for, and the moral dilemma of whether I should go back to the shop and pay for the windfall. Oh my, after all the hassle and aggravation of the last week getting this puppy to work am I not entitled to just a little bit? About $27.00 Canadian? But 1000 Rs is half a months salary for some of the white collar working stiffs around here. Arrrrggghhhh!!!!!!!!

I cannot believe the absolute sense of relief to have my own connection ready and waiting for me any old time of day or night, though night is much cheaper, and the luxury of a great big fan to keep me and my baby cool while I check out all those sites that I routinely cruise daily, especially India Mike. Not having a live connection in my own room makes me feel so totally cut off from animportant part of my life. I am an addict, just no way to get around that.

But even addicts have to eat. Got to go get supper now. I'm looing forward to a long, inexpensive prowl through cyber space in the wee hours again. What luxury.

Back on the air

Well, it only took seven days of running back and forth between the telephone shop and the computer place to get my new, very expensive phone modem to work. That CD that was suposed to load a driver to activate the USB device that connects phone and computer was not in the folder with the name of the handset I bought. It was in a folder for another handset, some sort of programming gaffe in a backroom in Delhi I suspect. Boy did it take a lot of tech time to find that puppy.

It's dial up, it's slow, but it's mine. Yes!!!!!!!!

Now I can get back to having some sort of life and let my aching shoulder heal, cheap laptops are not light. I think if I rent this apartment for a year I may leave this one here as my Indian computer. Almost time to upgrade anyway.

A nice massage, with lashings of warm oil to sort out the tension is my next project. I think I need some pampering , especially before I head out on the train to Ramu's wedding on Tuesday.

Good Idea, Wrong Day

Remi's favorite driver approached me on the street the other day and asked me about taking pictures. I thought he wanted me to take pictures of his family, so I said sure, bring them along in the morning and we can find a nice backdrop and do some photos. He didn't show the next day, so I forgot about it. Showed up this morning. Turns out he just wants to take me out to take some pictures, and go up to where Remi is painting murals at the school. All this would be still ok, except that I foolishly had taken a glass of freshly blended grape juice the night before and had a lot of rumbling in the tummy stuff going on and the odd rather painful cramping. Enough said. Right in the middle of taking photos in a potters village I struck down by Ganesha's Revenge in the middle of the street and had to tell the driver to take me home right away, I need to change my clothes. What fun!

There is a lake to the south of Puttaparthi, usually dry cracked mud, and a road that goes around it and up to Pondicherry just to the east of Puttaparthi, makes a nice circle tour. I particularly wanted to see a small roadside shrine just on the lakeside, seems to be the earthworks of an old bridge or pier abutment with steps climbing up to the flat top of the platform. Last time I had been very charmed by the spot, very beautiful view out over the lake bed under the dappled shade of huge old trees. This time there was a little water in the lake, they have had a few good monsoons in the last couple of years, but someone had cut down the big trees and reft the spot of all beauty, grace and magic. Looks like it is used more as shrine again, lots of white paint splashed about, but I mourned for India there.

It reminded me of what my daughter has told me about the dangers of dieting. When the body is in a starvation situation, more calories expended than coming in, the first place it goes to rob cells to meet the deficit are from the muscles and organs. It does not use fat cells until those resources have been used to the point of danger. In the starvation condition that India as a whole exists in, the resources that people go after is not the fat of the rich or super rich, but the heart and lungs and organs of the land itself. Wood is very expensive in this part of India, hardly any trees left on the hills, all gone for firewood and the construction boom in Puttaparthi. Their other functions of creating oxygen, moving water from underground into the atmosphere and blessing us witheir shade and long lived patience are nowhere near as important as fueling the money economy.

Around on the other side of Puttaparthi Sai introduced me to a potters village. I was fascinated by the big pit kiln the potters were firing their ware in. I had done quite a bit of primitive type firing back when I made pottery. The sawdust firings in barrels worked pretty good, but the pit firings just took off and flared up in the wind and gave the pottery thermal shock right when it didn't need it. Clay is very temperamental. There are two places in the process where it is critical to keep the temperature rising very smoothly. Right at the beginning while you are driving the last of the water out of the pots and in the middle of the firing where the alumina-silicate bonds begin to break and the silica melts and starts to migrate into the pores of the clay. We could manage to keep the fire smoldering along quietly enough for the first part but eventually that prairie wind would whip up great gusts of flame and crack most of the pieces we were firing at this critical juncture. I saw how the design of this kiln was so much better. There was a large basin of rock constructed with pots piled in a heap at least as high again with a thick layer of thatch on top. But enclosing the whole was a stone wall higher than the whole kiln, to keep the wind out. The stone basin collects heat, lets some air in from the bottom, and additionally along the sides broken pots were set onto the walls to vent additional air into the stack. Very nice design. Can see how they would have a far higher success rate than we ever did with our heaps of straw out on the bald prairie.

Pity the ubiquitous green and yellow plastic water jugs people use now have almost destroyed the business of Indian potters. You mostly see these clay jugs hanging tied to balconies. Soak them down with water, put your fruits of vegetables and milk products in them and the water evaporating out of the clay will keep your food cooler than the ambient air temperature.

Smells of India

It's the smell grabs me everytime I walk out the door. You would think with so much shit and garbage around that it would smell bad. Actually when the steet sweepers burn piles of plastic bags on the corner it does. Other times though you can almost tell the time of day from the smell in the air. Each meal smells different, evening the scent of insence is is everywhere. It's a heady perfume of animal and people odours layered with fruit and perfume from the trees and the burning offerings. I love it.

I like my new apartment. It's on the cool side of the building, got great cross drafts, the veranda ends at my doors so no-one is looking in my windows, very clean, good water and more than enough room for my needs. I'm thinking of renting it for the whole year. At $650 for the year it is cheaper than a storage locker in Canada. I can put a padlock on the inner room door and leave my India stuff there. Let Remi have a key to the outer rooms and while I am away let the pilgrims in distress who are always coming to him for help have a little temp shelter till they find their own place. It's always those first few days in a new place that cost the most. Hotel keepers really soak you for last minute rooms.

I'll make up my mind by the end of March.

Freebee programs are so frustrating. Been putting photos up on Flickr. Putting them in sets that open reasonably quickly. Then I find out that free service only allows you three sets. Arrrghhh!

Tried putting all my trip photos in one set but here in India I cannot even get the slideshow to open. Perhaps those with broadband connections will have better luck. Piss, I'm going to have to pay that thirty dollars or so for a paid account. Wonder how long before they start trimming back on that too? Anyway, enough time messing around with these slow upload speeds for today.

Beginning to get the urge to take some photos finally. There is such a cute little baby just down at the end of the block.

How do you put a Giraffe in the Fridge?

Jan 4, 2007

Went down to the train station and bought train tickets for Remi and myself. The process reminded me of a quiz my friend Ken presented to a group of us one time.

Question one:
How do you put a giraffe in the fridge?

Answer:
You open the door and put in the giraffe.

Remi wanted me to perform some sort of legerdemain on the Internet to order tickets and pay with a credit card. When I said "I'm just going to take a rickshaw down to the station" he started questioning. Would there would be anybody there to sell tickets, (it's quite a quiet station, only a few trains come through); didn't I want to telephone first at least? He has had some harrowing experiences with paying for tickets that turned out to be waitlisted, which was not explained to him clearly. No, I'm not going to phone, I hate telephones anyway. I'm just going to go down to the station and buy tickets. This I did under the fascinated regard of half a dozen hangers on pressing up to the counter to closely watch the foreign woman buy train tickets. Doesn't take much to amuse some people in India. Open the door and put in the giraffe.

Question two:
How do you put an elephant in the fridge?

Answer:
You open the door, take out the giraffe and put in the elephant.

Told my friend Ram I had got a ticket to come up for his wedding but the line I was on only went as far as Gunter, I would have to take a bus or taxi to Repalle. He is sure the Puttaparthi guy is wrong, there are four or five trains go from Gunter to Repalle. Doesn't matter to me. If there is a train leaving in a reasonable amount of time I'll take that, if not if there is a bus also leaving in a reasonable amount of time I'll take that or I'll just hire a taxi. Figure it out when I get there. Open the door, take out the giraffe and put in the elephant.

Question three:
All the animals are at a conference in the forest except one. Which Animal is missing?

Answer:
The elephant is missing. The elephant is in the fridge.

I'm already way ahead of the game because I haven't wasted any of my emotion on worrying about stuff before I have any hard information. The elephant is in the fridge.

Question four:
There is a river that is full of crocodiles. You want to cross the river. How do you do it?

Answer:
Just swim across, the crocodiles are all at the conference.

Don't know how that one is going to work out yet.

India is so chaotic I find it really a waste of time to worry about stuff. None of your plans are ever going to play out exactly the way you plan them anyways, so it's best to just hang loose and go through the doors that open, not drive yourself nuts worrying about the ones that don't, especially before you try them.

Having fun posting all my photos to Flickr. Going to put all my collection of family snaps up too with a password for family members. Driving the guy at the computer shop crazy uploading twelve to fifteen Megs a day. He's hoping the extra rupees he's charging me will pay for the increased bandwidth charges at the end of the day. I hope they do also.

Above, my roomate.

Anything Can Happen In India

I've started uploading pictures and narative from my first trip to India, have never shown them before. It will take a while at these upload speeds but sometime I hope to get all my photo files sort of organized. Looking forward with great anticipation to taking the train across country to attend Ram's wedding at the end of this month. Getting that train reservation is my project for today.

Collecting the household bits and pieces I'll need while I am here.

Something about starting from scratch......

Very energizing.

Have Computer will travel

Happy New Years everyone

Jan 1, 2007

Best New Years Day I have had in ages. Moved into my new apartment, very happy with it. Found the correct bank ATM, ran around picking up a few household esentials, met some old aquaintances. It's eight o'clock at night and the thermometer says 28 degrees C. Frabulous joy. Got to get an umbrella tomorrow. I'm already sunburnt.

I'm tempted to rent this place for a whole year, cheaper than a storage locker at home, then I wouldn't have to keep buying all this household junk over and over every time I come.

New Years Eve is not a good day to try to get a bus to Puttaparthi

December 31

Feeling so laid back, I'm in India and feeling groovy.

Well India has a cure for that.

After a breakfast of puri, curry and chutney, my favorite high calorie guilty treat in India I'm off to the bus station feeling pretty on top of things because I managed to get the rickshaw driver to turn on his meter.The Super Delux is loading, no chance, completely full, there is an Andrhra Pradesh bus leaving in an hour and a half. Go to buy a ticket. All booked till three. Decide to try my luck with the one o'clock one anyway, someone might have given up. No such luck. The bus driver kicks us all off and decides to load from his handy dandy printed list. As I'm struggling to get my bulky bags off the bus again a beautiful young Indian girl offers to help me and asks me if I would like to share a taxi.I don't want another two hours in the midday Indian sun.Split four ways the fare is reasonable. So off I go with a very nice young couple from Kerala and the lady's father. Thank you so much Sneha and Vipindas.

The taxi driver is young and very modern, India Shining, you can tell by the elaborately embroidered racing jacket he's wearing. But he hasn't been to Puttaparthi before, keeps asking every one at cross roads the way to Puttaparthi. Bet it sounded like a pretty good fare when he started out. Out past the airport the roads are pretty good, fast four lane asphalt, but pretty soon things narrow down to where those big busses have to negotiate a peace treaty with each other to pass going opposite directions. And of course everybody has to weave around those guys carrying a goat on a moped, cyclists, bullock carts and odd constructions of rocks and marigold petals in the middle of the road. The other taxi drivers are all giving the newby a crash course in Kamakazi driving techniques, horns blaring as they bull on by. It was a fun drive.

Anyways we made it. I had hardly any rupees left, I was planning to go to the ATM on the edge of Puttaparthi that I usually use to replenish because I hate the money changers exchange rate, my own bank gives the going international rate. Anyways the machine tells me my card is invalid, that bank has stopped honoring Cirrus. What fun. To make a long story short, got it all sorted out with only the usual amount of hassel a person can expect in India.

Found Remi in the usual place at the usual time. He had found me an apartment till April, 2000 Rs, about $55 a month. Signed the papers for that. Got a little bit of running around to get settled tomorrow, but I'm basically here.

Love one cultural difference. Remi is promising to make me run up and down a lot of stairs to help loose all that unsightly fat I put on eating Ram's delicious cooking for eight months. My Indian gentleman friends are happy to see me looking fat and healthy and sexy again. Cool. I like that attitude.

Anyways, quite enough running up and down stairs and lugging heavy bags around for one day, I feel those leg cramps coming on already.